


Carnival of Rust

by AshesSnowAndDreamsDeferred



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self Harm, There’s nothing really that romantic in here, can be read as platonic, no death though, or maybe there is, this is literal upset babble, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesSnowAndDreamsDeferred/pseuds/AshesSnowAndDreamsDeferred
Summary: There was a smell lingering in the air that made his nose wrinkle. It was fundamentally wrong somehow. Not like sweat and dirty clothes and artificial air freshener. Something sickly sweet yet acrid.





	Carnival of Rust

The bus was quiet when Patrick stepped on, looking for his bassist. There was a smell lingering in the air that made his nose wrinkle. It was fundamentally wrong somehow. Not like sweat and dirty clothes and artificial air freshener. Something sickly sweet yet acrid. 

Something told Patrick that speaking would be ill advised and so he padded through the bus, no Pete in the lounge. He continued. No Pete in the bunks. Where could he have gone? 

He tripped over a stray shirt and huffed, checking the teensy bathroom he and Pete shared. The smell was stronger here. 

 

“Pete?” He rasped and pushed open the door. Pete blinked owlishly from where he sat on the floor curled against the sink. 

 

“Pete. What are you doing? Sound check is in ten.” 

 

“Trick.” Pete’s voice sounded like razor blades on concrete. “I was waiting.” Reality felt altered here. 

 

Patrick dropped to his knees and placed a pale hand on Pete’s shoulder. His heart seized in his chest, momentarily transported back to a hospital room where death lingered. Pete looked just as small then as he did now. 

 

“Petey? What are you waiting for?” 

 

Everything was dark but for the fever bright shine in Pete’s eyes and they both choked as the smell doubled. Pete’s smiley mouth was slack and he wobbled as if he was trying to stand without the use of his limbs. Patrick helped him up and was immediately pulled into a bone crushing embrace. 

 

“Dance with me, lunchbox.” He said instead and lurched the two around to the rhythm only he could hear. 

 

“Peter, what’s happening.” He said flatly but moved with him anyway “did you take something?”

 

“You’re my dopamine diazepine daydream, doll.” Pete’s head lolled against Patrick’s shoulder. 

 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He snapped and brought them to a halt. He grabbed Pete’s wrists and for the first time realized they were wet. 

 

“Pete?!” He gasped and dragged the two of them out into the light of the lounge

 

Pete sagged against Patrick like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He was covered in red. “‘M sorry Trick. Don’t leave.”

 

The cuts were deep, but not deep enough. He’d been leaking liquid life long enough to be delirious. But not dead, not dead. No not Pete not again. Never. 

 

“Dance with me.” He sighed again

 

“I love you.” He cooed 

 

Patrick held him close and they swayed together. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Im sorry
> 
> I’m so sorry
> 
> This was terrible
> 
> It’s meant to be terrible
> 
> This is an exercise most likely to be deleted later


End file.
